


The Ring

by Erinye



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Erebor, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2718935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erinye/pseuds/Erinye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Thorin's answer is yes - but Bilbo is not really sure about the question.<br/>But also the one where the One Ring plots to relieve Thorin of his awkwardness - but Bilbo is not really relieved for about three quarters of the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ring

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [戒指](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3191687) by [avivatang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avivatang/pseuds/avivatang)



> Beta'ed by Salvia_G.

“Yes,” Thorin said.

In truth he might have been a little out of breath, but he had come in a great hurry from the council hall. _Running_ , one would have thought, had he not been the King under the Mountain moving in a kingly manner through said Mountain. After all, a bit of exercise was good for Thorin’s dignified and not at all advanced – _thank you Kíli for your concern –_ age.

Thorin looked around, expecting cheering from his most loyal companions.

Dwalin was sharpening his axe, pretending to be unaware of young Ori drawing him; while Ori pretended to be unaware of the fact that Dwalin’s axe was sharp enough. Dori was scowling Nori for some _I don’t really want to know for my throne’s sake_ shady business; while Bifur took care that Bombur did not choke on the pie Master Baggins had served them while they were waiting for the King. Kíli and Fíli were improvising the most disturbing song dedicated to hobbits’ supposedly huge family jewels ( _definitely not listening_ ); while Balin, Gloin and Óin were having an important discussion about politics – so important that Balin and Gloin were actually shouting so that Óin might hear.

Thorin had summoned the dwarves of the Company for a very specific purpose and he was more than a bit put off by the dearth of enthusiasm and congratulations coming from them. Still Thorin cast a paternal smile upon his companions: he felt very forgiving, and there was nothing despicable with a bit of friendly fun – as long as Kíli and Fíli’s song did not reach his sister’s ears (she would have it printed and sold in Dale).

Then, at the corner of his eye, Thorin saw Bofur standing at Bilbo’s side, touching the hobbit’s elbow. Thorin’s smile fell: this was _bedlam_ , his dwarves should know how to behave better, there was no order, no respect, no…

“Yes to _what_ _?_ ” Bilbo Baggins asked, looking up at Thorin.

Bilbo was wearing a white apron and bits of dough were stuck to his fingers; honey-brown curls fell on the hobbit’s forehead, a little damp from the warmth of the oven. Master Baggins seemed completely at ease in the kitchen Thorin had built for him, where the Company often gathered, except for the slightly confused expression he was now wearing.

Thorin’s lips twitched as he beamed at Master Baggins. Bilbo immediately reciprocated, but despite the encouraging smile he was offering to the king, he appeared even more befuddled than before. Thorin’s smile became self-conscious though he hoped it could pass for a conspiratorial air: Bilbo seemed to grow positively concerned as Thorin’s smile lasted, while the dwarf’s jaw started to ache.

“Thorin, are you unwell?” the hobbit asked. He seemed on the verge of touching Thorin’s forehead to check for fever, but he stopped and scrubbed his hands on the apron. “You look pale,” Bilbo mused, taking a good look at Thorin’s face. “Oh, now you are flushed! It must be fever, you exert yourself too much in inventing new insults for Thranduil’s ambassadors; we should ask Óin…”

“My answer is YES!,” Thorin practically shouted.

The room fell silent. Thirteen pairs of eyes were on Thorin, but it was the thirteenth pair that made him feel as callow as a dwarf without beard. He hoped he had not frightened Bilbo – after he had been forgiven for his dishonourable behaviour on Thorin Oakenshield’s Most Shameful Day on Middle-Earth, he had solemnly sworn to himself he would never frighten Master Baggins again.

But Bilbo’s gentle eyes only regarded Thorin calmly.

“I get _that_ part, Thorin; thank you very much for having announced it in that distinctive barking fashion of yours,” Bilbo said, half frowning and half smiling. “But what is the question?”

Thorin gaped. He looked to Balin in search of advice and his old friend nodded. Thorin squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. And then he faced what lay ahead of him with the same determination he had once used to challenge Azog (this might have accounted for Bilbo’s increasingly worried expression).

“Thorin?” the hobbit asked, his voice betraying some nervousness.

“ _Turgel_ *!” Thorin hissed.

He surged forward, his big hand closing on Bilbo’s nape, his fingers tugging at the hobbit’s curls until Thorin’s head leant towards Bilbo’s. Thorin vaguely heard Kíli whispering: “ _Why Uncle is trying to headbutt Master Boggins?_ _”_ , and Fíli’s genial answer: “ _He might want to prove that he can do it without giving Bilbo an headache for weeks like he did last time_ _”_. Thorin could have even cried at the thought that those brats would reign over Erebor one day. Staying alive suddenly seemed very important – and no, this has _nothing_ to do with Master Baggin’s breath on Thorin’s lips or the softness of his curls under Thorin’s fingers.

At first – not that Thorin would ever admit that – it was dangerously similar to a headbutt.

He felt Bilbo’s gasp and their noses bumped against each other before Thorin realised that he could not keep his head straight and kiss Bilbo at the same time. He remembered Balin had said something about the necessity of bending in a relationship – Thorin did _not_ remember Dwalin’s vulgar sniggering about _bending_.

He tilted his head and finally his mouth found the hobbit’s. It was… _small_. There was a faint taste of flour, and the hobbit’s lips were chapped from the cold harsh wind Bilbo met on his frequent strolls to Dale. Thorin was struck by the thought that he should have kept Bilbo company during those walks, and ensured that the hobbit was not underdressed, his lips always warm and protected. He felt Bilbo humming against his mouth and tried to remember if hobbit customs prohibited a bit of tongue; but Thorin was _practically_ sure that hobbit customs strictly required it: he would gladly oblige them to honour Master Baggins.

When Bilbo made a strange sound, Thorin suspected that the hobbits’ bit-of-tongue was not the dwarves’ bit-of-tongue, their bodily proportion being so different. The thought had a strange effect on Thorin’s mood ( _mood, not trousers, what of trousers?_ ), but the kiss lost some of its initial clumsiness and he no longer heard Kíli’s comments on the length of his tongue – _Who would have ever imagined…Uncle speaks so little!_

Master Baggins still seemed overwhelmed by the whole business, and less passionate than Thorin would have expected after having seen the hobbit’s temper unleashed against enemies and friends alike – not that Thorin had ever daydreamed about Master Baggin’s temper. At any rate Thorin generously admitted to himself that being kissed by a King was not an inconsequential matter; therefore he would not hold the fact that the hobbit’s body and mind had capitulated to his dwarvish charms against Bilbo. Yet Thorin hoped that his brave burglar would soon manage to cope with them. _Daily_.

Thorin was a bit surprised when Master Baggins pulled back abruptly. The dwarf released him, thinking that now he would have Bilbo’s word, all the Company witnessing it, and then they could get on with the whole engagement business. But the hobbit seemed frozen on the spot and was pressing both his hands on his mouth; his blue-grey eyes were huge with surprise and something else that made Thorin willing to – to act honourably, what else? Marry the hobbit, have a feast to remind Thranduil who was the richest and fairest King of them all, give some meaningful speech that would be recorded in Erebor’s annals. Then it would be his duty to carry Bilbo to _their_ chambers. _Then_ …

Then Bilbo fled.

Chaos exploded in the kitchen as soon as the hobbit disappeared beyond the door, and Thorin stood in the middle of it, looking from one to another of his companions. Was Bofur actually _scolding_ him? Thorin saw that Dori was showing an unexpected interest for the nearest wall, while Dwalin was frowning at his King and covering Ori’s eyes; Fíli and Kíli were half giggling and half crying with excitement and mischief, Bombur had stopped eating and stared at his King with his mouth agape, Gloin was evidently placing a bet with Nori. And Bifur was suggesting _get a room_ – this being the most polite translation for his quite graphic gesture.

Eventually Balin approached Thorin and gently patted his arm.

“Lad, don’t take it so hard. You have just taken him by surprise,” Balin suggested.

“ _By surprise_?” Thorin repeated, his voice embarrassingly husky. “Have I not seen him with the _ring_? It’s plain that Master Baggins means to ask for my hand in marriage, as I have learnt that hobbit traditions call for an exchange of rings as a sign of official engagement. It’s not what we dwarves are used to, but I would gladly honour my future husband’s sensibilities, on this matter and more.”

Even Bofur seemed taken aback by this piece of information, and Thorin smiled triumphantly. At last the dwarves of the Company looked impressed – his chest swelled with pride. Bilbo’s absence sort of ruined the atmosphere, but the next words pronounced in the kitchen did even worse. 

“Uncle, what makes you think that Master Boggins means to marry _you_ _of all dwarves_?”

Thorin wondered how much Erebor’s stability would be affected by Kíli’s more or less temporary disappearance into the dungeons; but Balin managed to push the King out of the kitchen – not so difficult a task since Thorin’s knees had turned into pudding.  From contemplating Erebor’s future in his heirs’ hands obviously; no hobbits involved with weak, traitorous knees. Nor Thorin’s absolutely fine age.

Thorin leant into the wall anyway, just in case.

“Go speak with him,” Balin said once they were alone in the corridor.

“I’ve just spoken to him,” Thorin grumbled.

“You were supposed to _ask_ ,” his old friend sighed. “Not to give him your answer instead.”

“But he knows what I was talking about. He _has to_ ,” the King insisted - because Kings _insist_ ; they do not pout.

“He might need a little push,” Balin advised.

“Now, I thought that kind of rude suggestion was above you, my friend, if not above your brother,” Thorin replied hastily.

Balin stared. Thorin stared back. Thorin realised that Balin had been talking _metaphorically_ : Thorin wondered how much Erebor’s stability would be affected by its King’s more or less temporary disappearance into the dungeons.

But at last he complied and made for Bilbo’s rooms, his back hunched and the most terrifying frown on his face. On his way to the hobbit’s quarters, Thorin examined once again what he knew of the whole affair, since Kíli’s impertinent question had undermined his confidence.

After the battle, Thorin had not even dared to hope that Master Baggins would accept his apology or his invitation to remain in Erebor for a time before returning to the Shire. But Bilbo, faithful to his deliciously irritating habit of surprising and bewildering Thorin, had forgiven him and made himself at home in Erebor. Well, not in _this_ order. Bilbo had been first persuaded by the Company to stay for the winter and return on the road only in spring; this had allowed Thorin time to win back the hobbit’s friendship. It had taken eight months. And five days. And an awful lot of quarrels and misunderstandings – thirty-five and seventy-eight. Not that Thorin had counted nor given any direct order to make an entry in Erebor’s annals.

Anyway, Thorin and Bilbo were now on good terms. They talked; they smiled to each other in public; they even joked about that day at the gates (at least Bilbo had tried once, during dinner; Thorin had actually paled and it had taken Dwalin two hours and a well-delivered blow to the head to drag the King out of his rooms next morning). Then, more than a year after the battle, while the Kingdom under the Mountain was slowly but steadily returning to his former glory, Master Baggins said that he missed his home and that he was planning to go back to the Shire. He never actually started to make plans for his journey however, and they were all too happy to keep their burglar to encourage him otherwise. But Master Baggins had grown strange and moody, and Thorin was under the impression that the warmth of their relationship had diminished, and they were now more polite than kind toward each other. It had been all very confusing for Thorin, since he had been under the impression that he and Master Baggins were going _somewhere_ , and suddenly they had found themselves in the middle of nowhere.

One evening, Thorin had resolved to speak to Bilbo. He had found the door to the hobbit’s room slightly open and he had peered inside: he had seen Master Baggins sitting on the edge of his bed, looking intently at a little gold band he was holding up between thumb and index finger. So focused had Bilbo been on the small ring that Thorin had been able to walk away without making his presence known, feeling that he had spied upon some private moment and his visit would not have been welcomed.

The King had no idea what to do with what he had witnessed, but Bilbo’s fidgety behaviour of late and the troubled gaze the hobbit had been casting upon such an insignificant piece of jewellery had won Thorin’s attention. Therefore Thorin had ordered someone else to work out the meaning of that ring.

Balin, with Ori’s help, had gone through what remained of Erebor’s library in search of books about hobbit customs, but their questions had remained unanswered - dwarves had never really taken it upon themselves to understand other cultures beyond the bits like _to what part of their anatomy should we deliver an axe blow?_ Then Balin had turned to the men in Dale to request some information from those who had travelled into the West and were more likely to be acquainted with hobbit culture.

In the end Balin had presented Thorin with the results of his investigation: _rings_ were part of hobbit marriage customs. Hobbits would exchange simple gold or silver bands to celebrate an engagement and they would wear them as a sign of their devotion to one another; sometimes they would keep the engagement rings on their fingers even after the nuptials.

At that point, Thorin had seen the situation clearly: Bilbo wished to marry him.

There had always been _something_ going on between him and the hobbit – their journey had not left them too much time to dwell on romanticism, but Thorin could clearly see how the hobbit had fallen for him between being chased by wargs and cocooned by spiders. As for himself, Thorin might have not always appreciated the hobbit, but he was truly fond of him now and no longer blind to Bilbo’s virtues and merits.

If Master Baggins wanted to marry him, Thorin would accept without as much as a second thought: he owed it to the hobbit for his help in reclaiming Erebor, didn’t he?

And, truth to be told, the idea _did_ sit well with Thorin.

He often laughed in Bilbo’s company and regard the hobbit’s advice highly; Thorin even suspected that the hobbit’s suggestions had strangely influenced his behaviour on a couple of occasions and dragged him out of the insidious ground of diplomacy without any need for imprisonments, beheadings or colourful insults. There would be some sort of a scandal – _the King under the Mountain marrying a hobbit!_ , but Thorin had consulted Balin about the old laws and there was nothing that forbade such a possibility – Erebor’s legislators being totally devoid of any imagination. On the contrary Thorin could easily imagine Bilbo helping him with the immense task of ruling Erebor; and he was pleased to see that Balin, his oldest friend and advisor, shared his opinion.

Thorin could have done much worse than Bilbo Baggins of Bag End.

Besides there was nothing wrong with the desire of kissing his future husband senseless, was there? Nor with taking mental notes about the variety of _nicest_ things that would take place in their nuptial bed. It would be Thorin’s duty to please his husband, and by Mahal Thorin was going to please that brave, gentle, cunning, witty-tongued husband of his...and this was usually the point when the King’s thoughts were derailed by treacherous reflections about Bilbo’s tongue.

“Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, knocking at the door.

“Come in, Thorin,” Bilbo answered, his voice filled with resignation rather than the raw happiness Thorin had expected. The dwarf entered the room and found the hobbit standing on his feet near the writing desk. It seemed that Master Baggins was planning to write some letters since he had prepared some parchments and ink. “What do you want?” Bilbo asked, apparently annoyed by Thorin’s glance to his desk.

Thorin was stunned by the bluntness of the hobbit’s question: he guessed that Master Baggins still had not gathered enough courage to ask for his hand, and a generous smile came to the King’s lips. Thorin was willing to indulge Bilbo’s shyness on the subject of their engagement – in fact he found it quite enticing.

“My answer is _yes_ , Master Baggins, I will marry you,” Thorin said slowly, not taking his eyes from Bilbo. Because that was what he was supposed to do, not because the sight was lovely.

“You will _what_?” Bilbo sputtered, “Why should you...I haven’t even...” he tried to say.

“Bilbo,” Thorin interrupted him, surprised at the fondness warming his own voice.

He moved closer to the hobbit, trying to convey with his body and his tone all the reassurance Bilbo needed. Thorin even wondered if the hobbit was likely to faint from an emotional overload.

Luckily Master Baggins had a strong, fit dwarf at his disposal; and Thorin would tend to the hobbit’s needs, scoop him up in his arms and place him on the bed. Thorin looked at Bilbo with some anticipation, but when the hobbit did not move on to the swooning part, Thorin was forced to speak again:

“There’s no reason to pretend otherwise. I know your intentions: I’m honoured by your feelings and I would endure this and more for you.”

“ _Endure_?”

This time Bilbo’s tone rose to a very disconcerting pitch. Some understanding dawned on Thorin’s mind - he fought it off.

“I saw you with the engagement ring,” he said bluntly.

“The ring? _What_...” Bilbo gaped, then made a face. He hastily shoved his hand in one of his waistcoat’s pockets and took out of it the gold band. Bilbo held the ring up between his fingers, just under Thorin’s nose. “Are you speaking of this ring, Thorin Oakenshield?”

It was exactly the same ring Thorin had seen that evening. Or at least he thought so, since the little thing was so common that there might have been hundreds of rings like that in the treasure hall, if his father and grandfather had ever bothered with such simple pieces of jewellery. If the choice had been Thorin’s, he would have found the most precious ring in Middle-Earth for his burglar; no, even better: he would have gone to the forge himself to create a ring for his future husband. He would have personally chosen the metal and the gemstones, and created something so unique that everyone would have just to look at the ring on Bilbo’s finger to know of Thorin’s feelings. Of his _gratitude_ , that is.

But this was hardly the point. That ring was a poor, trivial thing in itself; but not his meaning. Thorin did not really care if it was gold or some imitation, and he would have kept it dear just because it was the way Master Baggins was asking his hand in marriage.  

Thorin had never imagined that it would be like that: by then he had grown quite confused about the steps he should have taken to perform the customary engagement business. Should he have brought a ring for Master Baggins as well? And why was the hobbit not putting the ring on Thorin’s finger?

Thorin was under the impression that Master Baggins was challenging him, daring him to act first. The dwarf’s alpha instinct kicked in and Thorin growled: he swiftly closed one hand on Bilbo’s wrist and took the ring with the other.

He vaguely saw Bilbo’s flash of surprise and the paleness of the hobbit’s face – and he thought they were coming to the swooning part. But Master Baggins insisted on remaining conscious and trying to fight him off. Therefore Thorin, in that particular mix of stubborn determination and sheer idiocy in front of dangers that had placed him on Erebor’s throne, proceeded to put the ring on Bilbo’s finger. The King was very impressed by the insults pouring from Bilbo’ tender mouth – were they customary among hobbits? – but he was determined to accept his future husband’s oddities and...

 _Pop_.

Bilbo disappeared. And it was not the slowly romantic disappearing of a lover’s figure into the shadows after an encounter under the moonlight, as could be found in elvish poetry. Not that Thorin had _ever_ consulted elvish poems to get some inspiration for his behaviour toward Master Baggins. Anyway, it would not have helped – elves were useless and annoying as usual, even when writing poetry.

Bilbo had suddenly vanished from sight and the dwarf was left in the company of the writing desk.  Thorin did not even realise that he had let go of Bilbo’s wrist, but simply stared at the point where the hobbit’s comely face had been a moment ago.

Thorin had no time to wrap his thoughts around Bilbo’s disappearance before he received a kick in the shin. A splendidly delivered one, in truth; a kick which made Thorin howl in pain and bend in order to massage the aching point where he had been hit. Then he was struck by a slap on his nape, considerably gentler than the kick, but delivered by some invisible imp as well as the first blow.

“Confounded dwarf,” Thorin heard Bilbo saying, the hobbit’s breath warm on his cheek.

It was then that Thorin realised there were still two shadows in the room. The hobbit reappeared a few steps away, closer to the door. Thorin blinked.

“How...” the King began, feeling that there would be some swooning at last. On his part, that is.

“ _Later_ ,” Bilbo replied curtly, in a tone that required, and obtained, complete obedience.

Thorin stood silent – more embarrassed than that time when he had found himself trapped in a sack. Or in a spider web. Dungeons. Barrels. His own bloody Mountain. _Mahal_ , Thorin had practically spent the entire journey being trapped – and now it occurred to him that even Master Baggins might have done some trapping of his own.  

“First,” Bilbo said, showing once again the ring to Thorin before slipping it again into his pocket, “this is not an engagement ring. I’ll do some talking about it. With Gandalf.”

“Do you mean to marry Gandalf?” Thorin exploded, cringing at the mere idea of his burglar – oh Mahal, was this the reason why Gandalf always looked so smug? Thorin was going to reduce the wizard’s hat to bits.

“This. Is. Not. An. Engagement. Ring,” Bilbo repeated, looking dangerously close to the point of equalling his Grand-Grand-Uncle Bandobras Took’s accomplishment and spectacularly beheading someone. He took a deep breath, before going on: “Second, how dare you kiss me?” Bilbo asked, his voice uneven now. Thorin could conjure at least a dozen reasons for daring to kiss Master Baggins again, but an unusual survival instinct kept him silent. “Third,” Bilbo announced, “I would not have you enduring _anything_ for me, since I do not wish to marry you.”

“But...”

“I _don’t_. You’ve misunderstood: I have no reason to marry you, Thorin,” Bilbo concluded, looking at his feet as if they were suddenly the most surprising thing in Middle-Earth. Quite bizarre considering that Master Baggins had been living with those feet all his life.

Thorin opened his mouth and closed it again. He had never thought he would feel so desperate and wretched once he had returned to Erebor and been crowned King under the Mountain. Yet he had never thought that his happiness would be bound to a hobbit either.

Thorin groaned, realising he had fucked up. Royally.

Furious with himself, Thorin made for the door. But he found Bilbo there, blocking his way and heart as well.

“You know, I was planning to leave,” Bilbo said cautiously. “I like being here, but I thought that things between you and me would never change in the way...” he frowned, then chuckled and shook his head. “Never mind. It was a silly thought. But I would have never asked you to marry me out of gratitude.”

Thorin leant over the hobbit, observing him at a distance that was completely uninformed of the concept of personal space. Bilbo took a step back and bumped against the door, his eyes flickering nervously at Thorin. In the meanwhile, the dwarf’s mind was replaying Master Baggins’ words and slowly taking in the little signs displayed by the hobbit’s body - like the way Bilbo was biting his lower lip or shifting his weight from foot to foot, and how his gaze was slightly unfocused.  

Then it happened.

In his infinite wisdom, Mahal granted his child a moment of clarity: Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, rightful King under the Mountain and heir of Durin, understood what Bilbo Baggins’ words implied.

It might have been similar to that blessed moment when Eru Ilúvatur smiled upon the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves created by Aulë Mahal, and then conferred upon them a spirit of their own; very similar indeed, since, as the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves, Thorin feared that a mighty blow could fall upon his head – really, he would not have blamed Master Baggins for that. Thorin actually did not blame Bilbo for the slap the hobbit served him as soon as Fíli and Kíli asked for his opinion about the length of their Uncle’s tongue – _is that even healthy?_

Anyway Thorin did not miss his chance this time and did not waste Mahal’s gift: he spent the next two months and twelve days convincing the hobbit that he _did_ mean to get to know him better.

Ten months and twenty-eight days later, after an awful lot of quarrels and _not-awful-at-all-and-in-fact-very-nice_ things (Thorin tried to keep count of these, but he lost it every time Bilbo’s lips wandered below his waist-line), they were finally married on what would be known as Thorin Oakenshield’s Most Glorious Day on Middle-Earth.

Bilbo had even been able to convince his confounded future husband that _no, Thorin. A simple silver ring is fine by me and it would be perfectly acceptable for my hobbit sensibilities. And by the way we agreed to leave behind this idea of following hobbit customs: hobbits do not marry dwarves, least of all dwarf kings. But yes, I will marry you.  No, I don’t want any diamond. I don’t care if it comes in a lovely shape. Anyway, since when do you use the word_ lovely _? Oh, flattery won’t get you anywh-well, it might get you closer to my pants actually. No, not even a tiny emerald. Sapphire for your eyes? Don’t be silly, my darling. I know perfectly well the colour of your eyes and I don’t need a piece of rock to remind me. Now don’t pout. I’ll call them gemstones, all right? Precious gemstones you’re offering me and I’m refusing. No rubies, no amethysts, no agates. It’s my last word and you better stick to it, Thorin Oakenshield. I won’t walk in Erebor covered in jewels. Ensure me a good provision of brass buttons and I’ll be the happiest hobbit. Thorin, are you even listening? Oh my, you are not figuring out how to set some ridiculously precious rocks in my brass buttons, are you?_

**Author's Note:**

> Turgel: "beard of all beards" (from Dwarrow Scholar's Khuzdul Dictionary)
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://erinyewrites.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
